Ninja, Jr
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Little Anthony DiNozzo shows off some skills he obviously inherited from his mother, to the ultimate chagrin of his father. And in the meantime, Gibbs is throwing grapes at Elijah? Tiva family fic to make-up for the meanness of Hadassah. Established Tiva; Anthony & Elijah universe.


_a/n: you know, a tiny something to make up from the torrential angst downpour of 'Hadassah'. _

* * *

It all started with an innocent game of wrestling on the living room floor.

Wrestling may not be a normal pastime in normal households, but when your father was a cop and your mother was basically a ninja, hand-to-hand combat training started early, after dinner, and in front of an episode of _Magnum_, _P.I_.

"Oh! Haha!"

"_Aba_!"

"Thought you got me, there—didn't ya? Whoa—"

Ziva smiled as she listened to them roughhousing, familiar with the routine. She sprayed off the dinner dishes and set them aside for placement in the dishwasher. She crinkled her nose and shook her head at the playful sounds coming from the living room.

"Ma."

She turned around and glanced at Elijah. He was holding his hand up to her, wriggling his fingers. He blinked his wide, hazel eyes and scooted closer to her, tapping his heels on the linoleum floor.

"Ma!" he insisted.

She raised her eyebrows and swept his sippy cup off of the counter, crouching down and handing it to him. He grinned at her smugly and she bent to kiss his forehead, ruffling his soft, curly hair. In return, he grabbed a handful of her dark locks and yanked—hard.

"Lo," she muttered firmly. "No, no pulling," she began.

Anthony let out a mad cackle from the living room. There was a crash, and a thud—and Ziva narrowed her eyes suspiciously; perhaps after-dinner wrestling was getting out of—

"Uh-oh!" she heard Anthony shriek at the top of his three-year-old lungs.

Tony let out a sort of horrified, girlish squeal and then—

"Anthony—_dammit_!—ZIVA!"

Elijah stared at Ziva, eyes as wide as saucers. She picked him up, leaving the water running in the kitchen.

"What did you break?" she asked calmly, sashaying into the living room with the baby on her hip—

-only to find herself in the kitchen seconds later, balancing a baby, a cordless phone, and the wet rag she was holding to her husband's bloodied nose.

The phone rang in her ear and she muttered in Hebrew until he answered—

"Ziver?"

"Gibbs," she said, relieved. "I need you to come watch Elijah. I must take Tony to the emergency room."

* * *

Gibbs was alone in the DiNozzo house with the DiNozzo baby a full three minutes after he arrived, and he wasn't exactly sure what was happening—just that there was a lot of chaotic yelling, some crying (and he didn't know if it was Tony or Anthony), and a consistent stream of annoyed Hebrew.

Then it was silent, and he was sitting on the couch with Elijah, holding a bowl of grapes for the kid to pick at.

Ziva claimed Elijah was easily controlled using _grapes_.

Elijah sat there staring at Gibbs, his cute little eyes wide and inquiring. He was eighteen months old and rarely spoke; he was shy and his older brother was loud and obnoxious and did most of his talking for him.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

"Why am I watchin' you?" he asked.

Elijah stared at him, and then he put his hand on his nose and gasped. Gibbs attempted to interpret the gesture.

"What happened to Dad's nose?" Gibbs asked.

Elijah wrinkled his nose and giggled. He lunged forward onto his hands and knees and stood up using the couch. He leaned against it and eyed the grapes.

"Gunny," he said, and pointed.

"I'm Gunny," Gibbs retorted. "These are grapes."

Elijah pointed at Gibbs.

"Gwapes."

Gibbs glared at him.

"What did you call me?" he growled playfully.

Elijah grinned at him, and sat down on the couch right next to him, patting his knee.

"Gwapes," he said.

Gibbs leaned back and picked one up.

"Open your mouth," he grunted, smirking wickedly.

Elijah stared at him uncertainly, and Gibbs opened his mouth, waiting until Elijah mimicked him.

"Catch," Gibbs said, and tossed the grape lightly at the kid's open mouth.

* * *

DiNozzo sprawled dramatically on a hospital bed, clutching a bloody mass of cotton to his nose. The bleeding had mostly subsided at this point, but he was still trickling and his shirt had enough blood on it already.

He made it a point to groan as if he were in severe pain, but when he cracked his eye open a minute later to gauge Ziva's reaction, she was ignoring him intently. She was sitting in the corner with Anthony in her lap, watching him like a hawk while he entertained himself on her iPhone—pretending he _wasn't_ a nefarious little father-punching snot.

The door to the exam room opened, and DiNozzo scrambled to sit up immediately, straightening his shoulders and attempting to look manly. He put on an affected, smug sort of look and nodded at the doctor.

"Agent DiNozzo," the doctor drawled, and Tony realized he'd seen this guy countless times before when the team had made impromptu trips to Bethesda. "Interesting to see you here for a–domestic incident?"

The doctor peered at Tony, and cocked an eyebrow. DiNozzo nodded grudgingly, and lowered the mass of cotton he was holding to his nose, revealing the nasty, crooked injury. The doctor looked impressed and put his clipboard on the bed, nodding curtly.

"Let me guess," he joked. "You forgot to do the laundry for your wife."

DiNozzo pretended to laugh, and then narrowed his eyes and shot a glare over the doctor's shoulder at his _wife_ and the little _fiend_ sitting innocently in her lap. He nodded his head.

"It was him," he growled.

The doctor looked over, and raised both eyebrows. Ziva nodded to him cordially, and then took her iPhone back from Anthony and nudged his head forward, pointing at the doctor.

"You may tell the doctor what you did to your father, Al," she instructed calmly.

Anthony bounced in her lap and held up his fists.

"I punched Daddy!" he announced proudly, pretending to box the air. He wriggled in Ziva's lap and made a howling noise. "I _won_," he added proudly, and wrinkled his nose smugly and made a face at Tony. "Pie of the Tiger, buddy," he mimicked, stumbling a little over the words.

"It's _eye_ of the Tiger," Tony corrected loudly. "You didn't win—you _cheated_."

Ziva shot him a glare, and Tony quieted, a sulky look on his face. The doctor stepped closer and tipped DiNozzo's head back, looking at the damage. His mouth opened slightly in surprise.

"A three-year-old did this?" he asked.

"He is three and one half," Ziva corrected accurately.

Anthony nodded, pretending to show his muscles.

"Is it bad, Doc?" Tony whined.

"Well—it appears your son—_broke_ your nose."

* * *

Two hours later, when the missing three DiNozzos came barreling back home, Gibbs was pretty sure he had Elijah well trained enough in grape-catching to fetch a considerable amount of money from the circus. Unfortunately, his parents returning put pain to the idea of auctioning him off to the nearest clown.

Elijah slipped off the couch and trotted over to his parents unsteadily, diving at Ziva's legs and hugging her. She smiled at him as she hung up her coat, a bottle of painkillers rattling in the pocket.

Gibbs turned around, the bowl of grapes still in his lap—he'd refilled it, because he'd been snacking on them, too.

He caught sight of DiNozzo's bandaged, plaster-set nose and lifted a brow.

"You forget an anniversary, DiNozzo?" he asked.

Tony glared at him. He shot a look at Ziva.

"Why does everyone think you abuse me?" he demanded.

She whacked him softly in the back of the head.

"They simply know I keep you in line somehow," she said smoothly, sweeping up Elijah and navigating around the room.

She sat down on the couch across from Gibbs and Elijah perched in her lap, turning to face his silver-haired babysitter. Tony came storming around into the living room with Anthony at his heels, pretending to punch his legs.

"Rawr!" he growled. "Rawr! Rawr! I'm Rocky!"

Gibbs reached out and grabbed him, yanking him back and up into his lap easily. Anthony struggled and laughed, kicking at Gibbs feebly.

"Hi, Gunny," he said smugly.

"What'd you do to DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"I punched his nose," Anthony retorted.

Gibbs turned and eyed the injury, his eyes narrowing. He glanced back at Anthony, and then pointed.

"You did that, bud?" he asked.

Anthony flopped into onto his back in Gibbs' lap and nodded.

"I jumpeded at him off the couch and I _puncheded_ his nose like Superman punches when he flies," he said loftily.

Gibbs shot DiNozzo a wry look.

"You got your ass kicked by a preschooler," he gloated.

DiNozzo looked at him sulkily, wincing as he gingerly prodded his nose.

"Yeah, he's got an arm like the Hulk," he groused. "And I thought I was teachin' _him_ technique."

Gibbs shook his head.

"Nah, doesn't need to be taught," he said, ruffling Anthony's hair. "Al's got it in his blood," he said, nodding at Ziva sagely.

Ziva leaned back and smiled wryly, accepting the compliment.

"Ninja junior," grunted DiNozzo, glaring at his oldest son.

"Dad—Aba, hey—wanna wrestle again?"

"I do not think there will be wrestling in this house for a very long time," Ziva intercepted firmly, giving a sharp shake of her head.

"IMA—" Anthony started to shout, but she silenced him with a sharp bit of Hebrew.

He glared at her, DiNozzo looked relieved, and in the silence that followed; Gibbs noticed Elijah was still sitting on Ziva's knees with his mouth wide open. Gibbs grinned and sat forward, taking a grape from the bowl.

"Hey," he said, nudging Anthony. "Wanna see what I taught your brother?"

DiNozzo raised his eyebrows and sat forward, tilting his head with interest. Gibbs lifted his arm, positioned the grape, and tossed it in a practiced arc towards Elijah. Tony made a scoffing noise, but Elijah leaned to the side, fell back against his mother, and caught the grape.

Ziva looked unsurprised, but Tony squawked in disbelief, his mouth falling open.

"COOL," bellowed Anthony, apparently finding his baby brother slightly more awesome.

Tony thrust out his hand.

"No one told me _ninja_ was an inherited trait!" he whined, frowning. "C'mon—they _look_ more like her, they're _tough_ like her—what the hell'd they inherit from me?" he demanded.

Ziva smirked like a Cheshire cat and stroked Elijah's hair, praising him quietly. She simply lifted her shoulders in a shrug, but Gibbs looked at three-year-old Anthony, pointed to him, and answered:

"This one never shuts up."

* * *

_[gibbs just sort of always shows up because i LOVE writing him with kiddos]_

_:D_  
_-alexandra_  
_story #157_


End file.
